


Come Morning Light

by animeangelriku



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Romantic, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Morning After, Morning Kisses, Post-Canon, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), the implied sexual content is only one paragraph but i'm paranoid so you get the m rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animeangelriku/pseuds/animeangelriku
Summary: Crowley is Temptation Incarnate, he is Perfection Incarnate, he is the most miraculous being to exist in the universe, and Aziraphale loves him with every single atom and particle of his essence, with everything the Almighty gave him when she breathed life into him.He buries his head on Crowley’s shoulder, on the crook of his neck, and squeezes him more tightly, pressing himself as close to him as he physically can, clutching his back like a lifeline, feeling Crowley’s heart beating, thrumming against his chest, and he blinks back the overjoyed tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He never knew it was possible to love someone this much and this fiercely.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 274





	Come Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Y ' A L L. holy _shit_ , i legitimately cannot thank you enough for the overwhelming support and love i’ve received on _Love Like Fools_! seriously, thank you thank you thank you thank you **thank you** SO fucking much, you guys!! you're all amazing, you have no idea of what all that support has meant to me. y'all make me wanna write SO much more of these soft dumbasses in love, so while i'm working on another longer fic, have this little thing i wrote to calm myself down after i had a bit of a scare last night.
> 
> keep on being so fucking amazing, fam, i fucking love you all.
> 
> also, this was inspired by listening to the LIGHT version of the "Can't Help Falling in Love" cover by Tommee Profitt (feat. brooke) on repeat. aziraphale is soft and so am i, what did you expect?

After three months of living together in their quaint South Downs cottage, Aziraphale still hasn’t gotten used to this: waking up next to Crowley, knowing it is not a dream but a reality, not the desperate longing of his lovesick heart but the sight that awaits him every day of the rest of their lives. 

He always wakes up with the sun, just in time to watch as its first rays stream in through the curtains of their bedroom window and bathe Crowley in a warm, golden light almost as warm and golden as his beautiful eyes, casting a sort of... otherworldly glow over him. 

(Not ethereal, because Crowley would take offense to that term, and most certainly not Heavenly, because there is no angel in Heaven who could even compare, who could even come close. Heaven _wishes_ they had someone as brilliant, as magnificent, as brave and wonderful as Crowley. Well, they can’t have him. He’s Aziraphale’s to keep, thank you very much.)

This morning, Aziraphale opens his eyes to find his arms wrapped around Crowley and Crowley’s around him, his head buried in the crook of the demon’s neck, and their bare legs still entwined under the bedsheets. The first observation is not new, they fall asleep holding each other more often than not. The second one is equally unsurprising, given how much Aziraphale loves to rest his head on that spot, breathing in Crowley’s scent. 

The third one, however, had never happened before last night, when Aziraphale laid Crowley down beneath him and ran his fingers through every single inch of Crowley’s skin he could touch and felt every one of Crowley’s shivers and heard every one of his gasps and whimpers and sighs and pushed their bodies together until they were both crying out in pleasure and kissed him and kissed him and _kissed_ him. 

Aziraphale pulls his head away only enough to be able to look at Crowley, but he tightens his grip on him as if to reassure his own body that no, he’s not getting out of bed and leaving Crowley, he’s not going anywhere, don’t worry, he’s simply settling into a better position to admire him when—

The first rays of sunlight peek inside their bedroom through the window curtains. 

Crowley’s gorgeous mane of hair turns the color of fire, but it’s the fire of a hearth, the fire that brings warmth and safety and comfort against the cold and the darkness, the light that guides you home in the middle of the night. 

The bare skin of his shoulders and his arms glistens, making the few freckles he has stand out like starlight in the firmament that is Crowley’s body, and Aziraphale resists the urge to follow their path with his fingers, to trace patterns between them as though they’re constellations only he can see—constellations Crowley will only let _him_ see—because he does not want to wake Crowley from his slumber. 

But what truly takes Aziraphale’s breath away, what truly makes him forget that he doesn’t even _need_ any breath, is the complete, absolute tranquility and peace in Crowley’s expression. A few stray curls cover his ear, yet Crowley remains untroubled, at ease with the world as it slowly starts to wake up, the rays of the sun covering him like a second skin. His brow is relaxed, openly vulnerable in a way Aziraphale has seldom seen before, and he feels his corporation brimming with joy at the trust Crowley has in him, unafraid of letting the angel see him like this.

He is Temptation Incarnate, he is Perfection Incarnate, he is the most miraculous being to exist in the universe, and Aziraphale loves him with every single atom and particle of his essence, with everything the Almighty gave him when she breathed life into him. 

Aziraphale buries his head on Crowley’s shoulder, on the crook of his neck, and squeezes him more tightly, pressing himself as close to him as he physically can, clutching his back like a lifeline, feeling Crowley’s heart beating, thrumming against his chest, and he blinks back the overjoyed tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He never knew it was possible to love someone this much and this fiercely. 

He hasn’t fought anyone in over six thousand years, always preferring to remain in the sidelines, go unnoticed, stay away from the center of attention, but he is still Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, (Ex-) Wielder of the Flaming Sword, and if anyone thinks they can take Crowley away from him, they’ve got another thing coming. 

Hell (and Heaven) hath no fury like the true Righteous Wrath of a smiting angel. 

Crowley stirs in his arms, and before he has even woken up, he is already coiling his arms around Aziraphale, his lips already pressed to his hair and kissing his scalp, and Aziraphale shudders. He breathes in Crowley’s scent and relishes the contented sigh he gets in response. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmurs, drowsiness laced through his voice, and Aziraphale is smitten, infatuated, hopelessly besotted. He can’t help lifting his head to kiss Crowley’s mouth, he really can’t. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbles against him. He adores Crowley’s name, the name he chose for himself, making it part of who he wanted to be rather than who others expected him to be. _Crowley, Crowley, Crowley._ Aziraphale should really say his name more often than he does. “Crowley, my Crowley.”

Crowley giggles into their kiss, still too sleepy to notice he did something as unbecoming as giggle. 

“Angel,” he says again. And then he says, sounding like he does after they’ve finished a third bottle of wine, “Angel, my angel.”

Lord above, Aziraphale loves him so. 

“Marry me,” he says before he thinks the words through, before he realizes he’s even thinking them at the moment. 

Crowley pulls away from him to look him in the eyes, his golden, serpentine ones wide and fully awake now. 

“What?” he asks in a small, quiet voice. 

Aziraphale has thought about it, of course. It’s a silly concept to apply to beings of their nature, marriage, but oh, that hasn’t stopped him from imagining how it would feel like to call Crowley his husband, from mouthing the words to himself while Crowley is out working in their garden, from picturing them wearing matching rings to showcase their love to everyone around them. 

Perhaps it’s too silly a concept. They are already everything to each other, they do not need a piece of paper or rings to know that.

Aziraphale has remained quiet for a longer time than is apparently acceptable, because Crowley cups his head in his hands and gazes into his eyes with a devotion so fierce it makes his heart pound ferociously in his chest.

“Aziraphale. What did you say?” he asks in the tone of someone who heard something he’s wanted to hear for a long time and is afraid he misheard or misunderstood. 

Aziraphale smiles. Of course Crowley wouldn’t think it silly. They’ve already gone native, what’s another wonderfully human creation more?

“Crowley,” he begins, determined to get it right this time. “My darling, my dearest, my love, will you marry me?”

Crowley grinning—not smirking, actually _grinning_ —is one of the most beautiful sights Aziraphale’s life has been blessed by. He radiates happiness like he radiates sin, a wave so strong that it overwhelms Aziraphale, and when Crowley leans back in to kiss him again, Aziraphale gasps into it, his lips curving into a grin to mirror Crowley’s.

“Yes,” Crowley says, “Aziraphale, _yes,_ ” and kisses him like they’re already at their wedding, their smiles so wide that their teeth clash, and Aziraphale’s hands pull Crowley flush against him, and Crowley’s hands pull Aziraphale’s head closer to kiss him more deeply, and his delighted laughter starts in his throat and ends in Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale has never known bliss like this. 

Later, Crowley will hold Aziraphale’s hand and slip on it a ring he’s had since the first time they crossed paths in Rome, a gold snake that curls around his finger and whose head rests just below his knuckle. Even later, Aziraphale will get Crowley a silver ring with a small, round emerald in the middle and an angel wing engraved on either side of it on the band, and he will get down on one knee in front of Crowley and slip the ring on his finger and allow Crowley to pull him to his feet to kiss him senseless. 

For now, though, they hold each other close and keep kissing and smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths until they fall back asleep with the rising sun streaming its last early rays through their bedroom window.

**Author's Note:**

> side note: the original title for this was "aziraphale has too many feels and i'm too gay to handle it" because i was expecting this to be less than 500 words and it ended up being almost thrice as long. 
> 
> all kudos and comments are highly appreciated! and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> p.s. the fic i'm working on is their first time the night before, so expect that at some point sometime soon (hopefully)!!


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